|Here's a pretty sunset for you, taken outside my front door this week.|
What am I… new? It's like everything I learned about pacing myself in high school and college just went out the window. Truth be told, I felt a little let down by myself that night. I wanted the evening to be a bit more respectable. I at least wanted to be able to remember what happened to my left zippered heel. I was turning 40 after all… not 22.
Then I remembered something I heard about women celebrating their 40th birthdays, like it's pretty common for them to celebrate big and get stupid-drunk. And it's specifically because they are not 22 anymore that they go off the rails in celebration. So, I can take comfort in knowing that I am a 40-year-old, over-compensating drunken cliche. Fantastic.
Here's a wildly unoriginal musing about being 40, not 22. After I heard the Taylor Swift song, 22, I did the math and was depressed to learn that my 6 year-old son is closer to 22 than I am. I was feeling all proud of that discovery until I read on someone else's blog that she had figured out the same thing and blogged about it first. Boo. Not feeling so proud or original anymore. ;-)